


the daylight seems so far away

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a reality where the number on your wrist tells you the age your soulmate will be when you meet, Emma has an impossible number: 232. She thinks she's broken, until she realizes just how long Hook spent living in Neverland.</p><blockquote>
  <p>    <i>This was the worst joke the universe ever told.</i><br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt: "au where you have a tattoo and it tells you how old your soulmate will be when you meet"
> 
> Title is from the song 'Daylight' by Ron Pope.

Emma was never big on the whole soulmate thing. Mostly because it had never been all that big on _her_. Growing up with the number _232_ on your wrist just really kind of encouraged that lack of faith.

Sure, when she was younger she used to indulge in the fantasy that it was just some cosmic typo, that her soulmate would be either twenty-three or thirty-two – both of which were still far off, and Emma at twelve wouldn’t have cared much at all about such a distant soulmark if it wasn’t rapidly becoming the _only hope she had_ of finding someone to love her. Someone to belong with her, someone who wouldn’t leave. With each new foster home that wasn’t, and no family or friends in sight, the thought of a guaranteed soulmate was too precious to let go.

Yeah, Emma at twelve was pretty frantic to believe in soulmates. So frantic, in fact, that she actually did a bunch of research into them, and the various ways they could go wrong (but still turn out okay, _please_ still turn out okay). And what she found was the exact opposite of encouraging.

There were plenty of stories out there about people who met their soulmates in unusual or less than ideal situations. Couples who got married young and then met their soulmates later. People who met their soulmates in daycare and then moved away in first grade and lost them forever. There was that movie based on a true story about the woman who was in love with one twin but it turned out her soulmate was his brother. That other movie based on a true story about the soulmates who lived within an hour of each other their whole lives, finally met in a nursing home, and the guy died two weeks later. That book about the sicko whose actual soulmate died when they were both ten, and he grew up and tried to use the _8_ on his wrist as a justification for being a pedophile. Closeted people who married someone the right age but the wrong gender. People who just didn’t have a number at all, and maybe it meant they weren’t interested in romance, or maybe their soulmate died before they were born and they’d never meet, or maybe they just didn’t have one at all.

But never, not once in history, had there been report of someone with an impossible number like hers.

Realizing that hurt worse than no soulmark at all would’ve. Emma was twelve when she realized that there was no such thing as a cosmic glitch that could ever work in her favor – because really, what were the odds that she was the first? What were the _chances_ that little unloved Emma Swan, whose parents had left her on the side of the highway to die and who couldn’t keep a foster family for longer than a few months, could have a messed-up soulmark for the first time in _history_ but still find love?

There was no chance. It was that simple. Rather than the universe messing up, it was infinitely more likely that _Emma_ was the one who was wrong somehow, that she just didn’t _fit_ even more than people without marks at all. She was so unlovable she had to be one-of-a-kind.

When Emma was thirteen, the age that most people start really showing an interest in them, she stopped believing in her soulmark.

* * *

At least soulmarks were pretty easy to cover. Emma’s was a little wider than most, with the extra number, but still fit neatly on the underside of her right wrist, easily hidden beneath long sleeves or a watchband. It wasn’t exactly polite to ask about someone’s soulmark if they didn’t bring it up first, so at least if she kept it covered she didn’t have to deal with anyone giving her crap about the number. It wasn’t bullying she was concerned about so much as someone wanting to take pictures of it, write some stupid human interest story about the freaky dud of a soulmark she had. She didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to think about it, definitely didn’t want to reveal it to the rest of the world.

She didn’t show it to Lily, but she almost wanted to, because Lily had a star where her number should be, and maybe it was just a coincidence but she thought, if Lily could be special, then _maybe_ –

But Lily lied, and Lily lost her the best place she’d ever found, and if Lily was special it wasn’t in a good way; Emma was stupid to think her own weird mark could be any better. But still, it seemed like she just couldn’t learn her lesson, because she got placed with Ingrid and Ingrid could be stern but also sly and funny and she really _cared_ about Emma, and after six months of living with her Emma was in love, she wanted to never leave. She wanted to show Ingrid her wrist. She had this stupid daydream about Ingrid telling her it didn’t matter, she didn’t need a soulmate as long as she’d found a family.

 Before she ever got the chance, Ingrid turned out to be a psycho. In hindsight, Emma was glad that she hadn’t shown her – being completely accepted and then having it turn out to be meaningless would have hurt so much more. Being rejected… would have hurt more, too.

(Sometimes she did think about going to a newspaper, making them write a story about her weird soulmark and spread it nationwide. Her parents _had_ to recognize her by that, it would be a surefire way to find them.

Unless that was the reason they left her on the side of the road in the first place.)

* * *

Emma got stupid with her heart one more time, only a few years later. She really could not learn, but she told herself this was different, Neal was _different_. It was beyond stupid to wait around for a soulmate that she was never going to find, but Neal loved her and she loved him, and maybe most important of all, Neal didn’t have a soulmark either.

He showed her his empty wrist the first night they made love, in a cheap motel room paid for with pickpocketed cash. Showed her the blank skin, twisted his mouth up and said, “Hope this doesn’t change anything.”

Emma stared, heart beating fast. Some people liked to do that, to compare wrists whenever things started to get serious. It could often spell the end of a relationship if the couple cared too much about soulmarks, and she could only imagine that went double for someone with a blank wrist. Back when she’d done all that research in middle school, she’d turned up a lot of stuff about people without soulmarks being treated badly, like they were less important or just fit for a fling because they didn’t have anyone they were destined to be with. Maybe that was why Neal was showing her now. Maybe he was afraid that she’d be one of those people who cared too much, who would leave over something like this.

Instead, Emma felt her eyes fill up with tears, and she grabbed his wrist to kiss that empty space where numbers should be. Neal stared at her, obviously confused by her reaction, and Emma let go to tug her shirt off with her heart beating heavy and fast.

“No,” she said, forcing up the courage to lift her right arm between them, to show him the ruined mark on her skin. “I hope this doesn’t either?”

Neal tugged his eyes away from her bra to look down at her wrist with a little frown, which instantly turned into a look of extreme shock. She could see his body jerk back a little, and held her breath, hoping, hoping.

“Emma – _how_ ,” he choked, and reached out to touch her skin with trembling fingers. He seemed so confused; well, of course he would be, but she still thought that maybe, just-

“See, we’ve both got a dud,” Emma said, heart aching at the thought, “we both don’t have anyone else, but –”

She never got to finish that sentence. Neal looked up from her wrist and just slammed forward into a kiss, tugged her close and melting against him, breathless, lightheaded and lighthearted because that blank wrist and this kiss meant he _wouldn’t leave her_.

“Emma,” he whispered, when their lips broke, and it sounded like he was trying not to cry. “I love you.”

* * *

After Neal, Emma gave up on more than just soulmarks. She gave up on family, on hope, on love of every kind. She knew better. The whole _universe_ knew better, it had stuck that impossible number on her wrist at birth to try to tell her not to bother, but she hadn’t listened and she’d paid the price so many times. She gave up her baby, because she couldn’t make him pay for her mistakes too, not when she could make sure he’d get something better.

(She couldn’t bear to touch him, to look too close, but she glimpsed his wrist as the doctor carried him out of the room. There was a little black _17_ on his skin, and she started to cry even harder at the sight. At least he would find someone. The same age as she was now, and giving up, but he would _find_ someone to love for the rest of his life.)

She gave up on love completely for a little over ten years, and when it showed up again, barged right into her apartment on her birthday and demanded for her to save a town full of fairy tales from a magic curse – well, she never had been good at learning her lesson.

Still, she kept her soulmark covered.

* * *

Graham’s wrist said _28_.

Emma didn’t know until after it was over. He was one of those people who are just _good_ about soulmarks, never tell stories about mistakes or show you theirs or ask to see yours. He was – he was just a _good_ person, completely, in a way that ripped Emma apart again after he was gone.

He wouldn’t have cared about her mark. She knew that as simple as fact: he wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have said anything about it, wouldn’t have left because of it. He probably wouldn’t have mentioned his own mark unless she asked, even if he knew – even though he had known…

She saw the mark on his wrist when he was lying _dead in her lap_ , it didn’t matter anymore. And she had her own soulmark to tell her how wrong it was, anyway, how it didn’t mean her, couldn’t mean her, she knew that so when the hell would she stop hoping otherwise?

But she couldn’t stop thinking about it, for months after. He knew how old she was, he’d arrested her after all, and when he started to like her, did he ever think-? Did he ever hope?

Emma told herself it _didn’t matter_ , wrapped his shoelace around her wrist to remember him and if it covered up that stupid mark too then _good_. It was better that way.

* * *

Hook’s wrist had a _28_ too.

Emma noticed it at the top of the beanstalk, when he was bandaging her hand. It wasn’t like with Graham though, her thoughts didn’t instantly jump to – well, they wouldn’t _normally_. Graham had been a different matter. Emma wasn’t one of those girls who got all giddy when a guy she liked had her age on his wrist.

-And besides, she didn’t _like_ Hook. What he was just doing with that scarf was… distracting, yeah, but she couldn’t trust him.

When Emma saw his soulmark, her first thought was… it didn’t really have any words, it wasn’t really even a thought so much as a rush of understanding, of empathy despite herself, because just above it he had a tattoo. A curved dagger piercing a fiery heart, the tip coming to rest right before the _28_ on his wrist, just visible under the bracer he wore. There was a banner across the heart: _Milah_.

It was definitely telling, how quick the flirtation dropped from his voice after that, how he stiffened up and quit with the compliments, closed off entirely; Emma knew exactly why.

“For someone who’s never been in love you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you,” he cut back, eyes dark, and she couldn’t help the words that escaped her, the almost-whisper.

“Maybe I was… once.”

Hook nodded slowly, still not looking away, and the moment dragged on too long, way too long to handle. Emma felt shaky, vulnerable and open and she didn’t _like_ it, didn’t like the way he was looking at her like he understood.

She brushed past him with a curt, “Let’s get moving.”

And she wondered – how long did he have with Milah? He didn’t look that much older than Emma, and even if time had been frozen during the curse, even if Milah had been older than he was when they met, how long could he really have had?

Long enough to turn into this, she thought, long enough to be willing to go this far for revenge, to go who knew how much further.

Whatever he understood or didn’t, she definitely couldn’t trust him.

* * *

In Neverland, they all relied on Hook.

Emma didn’t even want to think about what they would have done without him. Even if he’d come back to return the bean, and just not come with them to Neverland itself, they’d have been lost. She didn’t know how they would have survived even this long – somehow, for all that it felt too much like they weren’t making any progress towards Henry at all, she knew Hook was essential to getting even this far. His knowledge about Pan, about the Lost Boys, and even just simply about the island itself was the only reason they hadn’t all been poisoned or captured or just wandered off in the wrong direction. He was confident, helpful – and both incredibly flirty and supportive.

Emma had always felt this connection between them, the edge of something that could be so much deeper, and she’d felt like Hook noticed it too, but they’d both chosen not to go there before. Now that he’d forgone his revenge, now that he’d decided to actually be a part of something and help them find Henry, he wasn’t holding back at all. He was so blatantly obvious about his attraction to her – no, more than that, his _interest_ in Emma, something much deeper and more dangerous than simple lust.

“Just who are you, Swan?” he asked, and the rum in her throat burned, the hurt of admitting what she’d always known deep down to her _mother_ still too fresh to touch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she deflected, and if he had just been flirting, if Hook had only been interested in her for one thing this would be so easy.

“Perhaps I would,” was his reply though, too serious and looking right through her and her heartbeat in her throat wouldn’t let her come up with some flippant quip, all she could do was run away. She was a Lost Girl, she had a broken soulmark, Neal had just died, she had a _kidnapped son_ , there was no way she could do this.

So of course it was that night, sitting round the fire, when David asked him how he knew the island so incredibly well.

“Well,” Hook said nonchalantly, prodding at a coconut with his hook, “just about two hundred years _does_ lend one a certain familiarity with the lay of the land.”

It took a moment.

“That’s… longer than I thought,” David blinked, sounding awkward; probably sensing the tension just beneath the surface of Hook’s words, how closely the conversation was coming to a revenge so recently laid to rest. “Guess that would explain it.”

“Aye,” Hook said, and pulled his hook out of the coconut, passing it to Mary-Margaret.

“Two hundred years,” she said softly as she accepted the fruit, shaking her head slowly.

It got quiet after that.

And Emma realized.

_Two hundred years._

She stared at Hook. Her throat felt tight, her palms hot and sweaty. The noises from the jungle were suddenly too loud, the fire seemed to be crackling higher; Hook looked up as if he could feel her staring and it felt like a physical _impact_ when their eyes met. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

“Swan?” Hook said. He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her, cocking his head slightly to indicate the fruits next to him. “Fancy a coconut?”

He was around her age, maybe a little older. He’d been living in Neverland, not aging at all, for roughly two hundred years.

Her wrist felt like it was burning. She clamped her left hand over it, grabbing onto Graham’s shoelace, and thought _232_ and felt breathless, on the verge of panic.

“No,” she croaked, and tried to look away but she _couldn’t_ , couldn’t stop looking at Hook, at _her soulmate Captain Hook_. “I’m good.” 

* * *

It was – she didn’t have to acknowledge it. She _wouldn’t_. This wasn’t the time or the place or the – she couldn’t – but it was the _person_ , finally, there was really a person, she wasn’t actually broken.

She had a soulmate. The numbers on her wrist had never been a lie.

Emma wanted to _laugh_ , wanted to take the sword that Hook had given her and find something she could just _chop to pieces_ , because she’d had a soulmate all her life. That was – she’d spent her _entire life_ , feeling broken and wrong and afraid, blamed so much of her bad luck with love on _herself_ , justified it with those stupid little numbers on her wrist, and all along it had been-

This was the worst joke the universe ever told.

Hook sidled closer to her side as they cut their way through the jungle, smiled at her, and she thought about the _28_ on his wrist, about the tattoo with _Milah_ right above it, and she wanted to be sick. Wanted to cry. Wanted to have known about this _sixteen years sooner_.

It wasn’t the point right now, she shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all.

She couldn’t, not coherently. She _wouldn’t_.

* * *

“And you think it’s the best plan just because your boyfriend came up with it?” Regina sniped.

“My boyfriend?” Emma asked, tried to stifle the hysterical giggle building up in her throat: “ _Hook?_ ”

She didn’t succeed. Both women gave her a funny look.

“What is your problem?” Mary-Margaret asked Regina, sounding genuinely confused, and that was hilarious somehow, Emma had to bite hard on her lip to keep from laughing louder. “She _just_ lost Neal.”

That got rid of the giggles quick.

Replaced them with a sick feeling in her stomach, a kind of desperate dreadful longing. Mary-Margaret was wrong. She hadn’t just lost Neal. She’d known this feeling for so many years now – it was just worse than ever before, but not at all _new_.

* * *

“I knew, the moment I saw him,” Emma blurted, lips trembling, voice wavering out of control, and she was _trying_ , she was trying not to cry but this was a battle she wasn’t going to win and she knew it – “I never… I never stopped loving him!”

She spun around and fled, _again_ , it felt like all she was doing these days was running and crying and she _hated_ it, hated everything about this place. It was too much, it was too many goddamn – it was like this place was made out of painful truths and too many plants, it was ridiculous and she just wanted to get Henry and be _gone_.

She didn’t want to think about Neal.

Emma absolutely did not want to think about Neal, knowing what she did now, to think about how she had never stopped loving him, _still_ loved him, would _always_ love him but how she hated him too now. She’d started hating him in Tallahassee and it was impossible to ever stop, maybe all the more now that she knew the truth.

Not just the truth about him leaving. No, looking through his cave, walls covered in drawings she never even knew he’d liked to make, had Emma thinking about time. And she got it, now – because Neal had lived here nearly two hundred years too, he must’ve…

The numbers didn’t line up. Not quite. But – but it was close enough, and she couldn’t help but remember the look on his face when she first showed him, the fierce way he kissed her, couldn’t help but _know_ what he must’ve thought.

It wasn’t like anyone else should be anything near that old, not in her world. It made sense that he must have thought he’d just miscounted the years a little. And, his empty wrist? Who knew? Maybe he thought it was just because he’d been in a different world when he was born, or really just a random fluke, he must’ve thought that it couldn’t compare to the _proof_ that her soulmark gave him.

But he still left.

And, god, it wasn’t like she didn’t know he thought he was doing the right thing. He must’ve thought he was saving her, giving her what she’d always wanted. He must have –

But Emma didn’t _care_ , she would never have left him. He could have come back to her in Tallahassee. He could have tried to tell her the truth, he could have done _something_. And now he’d never know – she’d never get to stop loving him, never get to stop hating him, never get to tell him that he was _wrong_ , of course he was wrong if he would ever leave, because someone who could do that to her could not be Emma’s soulmate. His wrist was empty because he never met his soulmate before he died, because he wasn’t Emma’s soulmate and she could never be his, not after those ten awful years alone.

Emma cried, and kicked a tree, and _hurt_ and _hated_ , and then she scrubbed at her face and walked back to the cave, where the silence was too thick and no one looked at her for long, except Hook. He didn’t look away.

Of course he didn’t look away.

* * *

“I, uh,” Hook said, and he was glancing down at the ground almost _bashful_ , it was ridiculous, “I just wanted to let you know that I too know what it feels like. To lose hope.”

Emma had to cut him off there. She – she _had_ to, she had no desire to hear what he was going to say next. Whatever words of comfort he had, whatever consolations he wanted to share… None of that would do any good right now. None of it would help Henry. She needed to stay completely focused on that, on _Henry_ , and not let herself get distracted anymore with thoughts of Hook, or Neal, or – or anything else.

 (Least of all, did she want to think about Hook talking to her about hope. _Hook_ , her impossible soulmate, his mark on her skin a huge part of the reason why hope had always been so _hard_ for her to hold onto – no. No, she didn’t want to hear a single word more.)

“I know what this is,” she said, and despite herself her voice came out almost gentle, because she knew so much more than he did, really. “This – you, trying to, you know… _bond_ with me.”

The word tasted bitter on her tongue. Having your soulmate offering their support, opening up to you, trying to help you feel better – that was the sort of thing that should make a person _happy_. This whole situation was fucked, so wrong, and she _hated_ this island.

She felt so… defeated, already. Again.

“So save your breath,” Emma told Hook. Sighed, weary. “I’m not in the mood.”

* * *

Maybe that’s why.

Maybe that’s why, when David and Hook came back – unsuccessful, sure, but _Emma_ hadn’t been, she’d succeeded and she’d _seen_ Henry, _spoken_ to him, he was safe and still hopeful and she was going to save him. She _knew_ it. She felt energized, determined, strong – she could do this. She could save him. As much as seeing her and Mary Margaret and Regina might have given Henry hope, seeing him had helped Emma just as much, breathed new life into her lungs, _bravery_.

And then David said Hook had saved his life.

Hook had _saved_ him, protected Emma’s family for her and now she felt like she was seeing him with brand new eyes as he shifted in place in front of everyone, awkward with the compliment. Hook was more than just a number on her wrist. He was more than just a reminder of her awful past, he was – none of this was _his_ fault, he didn’t even _know_.

He was _here_ , he was helping, he was being honest and dependable and he had saved her father’s life and he _wanted_ her, he wanted to know her, wanted to share himself too, he really did want–

And his voice was so _raw_ , he sounded exhausted. He sounded like she’d felt, only a few hours ago.

“Thank you,” Emma told him. Serious. Meaning it.

He looked away, sighing, lifted his hand to rub at his ear (nervously, the thought popped into her head, and then she couldn’t make it go away, wondered at it, _nervously_ ) – and when he lifted his head to look at Emma, his entire demeanor had changed.

“Well, perhaps gratitude is in order now,” he said, tapping at his lips, grinning slyly.

Emma felt a smile starting. She couldn’t hold it back.

“Yeah,” she said, and felt too too conscious of the shoelace around her wrist, “that’s what the thank you was for.”

“Mm,” Hook mocked, hitching a slow step closer. “Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?”

Emma felt _electric_.

“Please,” she whispered; shook her head. Thought about the number on her wrist and told him, “You couldn’t handle it.”

He was grinning, cheeks flushed. His eyes were locked on hers, he rolled a challenge off his tongue: “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma stared at him, and thought (sudden, clear) – _I want to_.

And she kissed him.

It was like lightning – a living thing, out of control, searing down her _bones_ , it was. He was. Words–

His mouth on hers tasted like the word _finally_. Her hand in his hair felt like _more_. The leather of his coat in her fist was _please_ , that little grunt he made another _please_ just as desperate, his hand on the back of her head was _is this real_ – their lips separating the question mark, coming back together after a quick, rough breath, pressing together again the answer: _yes_.

And they kept kissing, kept, further, more – one kiss _soulmate_ , another _soulmate_ , the next _Hook_ , and that was even better, his arms were around her waist, pulling her closer, as close as possible, she was dragging him into her, she wasn’t going to let go – another kiss _Killian_ …

That was when they stopped.

Emma clung to him, fingers clenched tight in his lapel, forehead pressed against his. She could feel the curve of his hook and warmth of his hand hovering at her waist, barely touching. She could feel his breath on her lips as she panted, open-mouthed, and thought again _Killian_ with a sort of growing self-disgust.

She felt dizzy. Wrecked. And she felt _wanting_ , like if she had been the one with hundreds of years to prepare for this it still wouldn’t have been enough. And she felt so _angry_ at herself, for letting this happen, for giving in to this, for kissing Hook and thinking Killian and somehow, hoping again –

“That was, uh,” he didn’t finish saying, he sounded breathless and as befuddled as she felt, and he nudged his head forward a little bit, tentative somehow still, and – Emma was _weak_ in the face of this.

She should pull back. She knew she should.

She kissed him again.

He sank into it just as quickly as before, not a surrender but a full and honest reciprocation, nothing held back. And somehow that made Emma feel so _wrong_ , for holding back herself – but kissing him felt so _good_ , and she wanted it and she could _have_ it, that was the most amazing part, Emma couldn’t stop thinking she could truly have this.

Couldn’t stop thinking right after, every single time (sharp, reflexive, honest like shards of glass): _No, I can’t._

“That was…” Emma repeated when they broke this kiss, voice too vulnerable. She didn’t look at Hook, felt afraid to see his face.

She didn’t finish either, just turned and walked away.

* * *

The problem was she _wanted_ it.

Hook didn’t follow right away. Emma wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t help being grateful. She didn’t want him around right now, she didn’t want to see him or speak to him or _think_ of him but she couldn’t help it.

She leaned back cross-legged against a tree, and held her right hand in her lap, out of sight from the rest of the group. Slowly, for the first time in months, she picked at the knot of the shoelace that covered her soulmark. She slid her fingers over the rough material of the laces as they unwound, stared down at her skin as it was revealed.

There it was.

In stark black against her skin, there it was: _232_.

She hadn’t really been expecting any change, but somehow it was still a shock to see those three numbers again, the same as they had always been. She touched the mark with her finger, slowly, and felt…

There was no special physical reaction to meeting your soulmate, or to speaking to them or even kissing them for the first time. Studies had been done, time and again, by scientists or soulmatch services, and the results had always been consistent. The marks didn’t change or feel any different; all reports of heat or itching had proved completely psychosomatic. The only true indication of a soulmate was emotion, and even that wasn’t always certain.

Emma knew. People fell in love with people who weren’t their soulmates. Sometimes they hated their soulmates at first. Sometimes they met them and didn’t even realize – really, soulmarks were very open to misinterpretation most of the time. And sometimes, worst of all, they didn’t match.

It was rare. It was something that almost never happened, and even if it did happen it was difficult to prove by any rational method, just like most things about soulmarks. Society could always, did always make the argument that an inconvenient love was just a mistaken soulmark, that the poor person would meet their _true_ soulmate later, or maybe they already had and just didn’t realize… People didn’t want to believe in unrequited soulmates, it just didn’t seem like a thing that should happen. It was too unfair.

But Emma looked down at her wrist, at the numbers on it and at the shoelace still draped loosely over her arm, and she believed. In the worst way, she _believed_ , and it hurt, it hurt so much she couldn’t stand it.

She’d wanted to believe. She’d hoped – she’d hated to think about it entirely, but ever since Graham she’d _hoped_ despite herself that she was his. All the more since the curse broke, because – he’d remembered, hadn’t he? And he’d really felt for her, he’d really… Emma _wanted_ to be his, wanted him to have had that, to have _known_ when she kissed him, known in his last moments that he had found his soulmate as well as his true self. She wanted him to have been happy, even if just for those few seconds. He _deserved_ that, so much more than most.

So much more than she did.

Because… if soulmarks could be unrequited, then who was to say hers wasn’t?

It sounded stupid. It sounded absolutely _ridiculous_ , given everything that Hook had done on this island, the way he’d thrown his whole being into kissing her back just now… The answer should be obvious. His soulmark matched her age when she’d met him. It should make perfect sense, Emma should be _happy_ , finally, should let herself have this, should, should, _couldn’t_.

It wasn’t even the wasted years that were the worst part about all this. It wasn’t the way she’d learned from the start to feel broken, to be less and _wrong_ and never have anyone to love her. The worst part was that even now, even knowing the truth – none of that was going away.

No one had ever loved Emma, not for long. And deep down, in her little Lost Girl heart, she’d always blamed herself. She’d blamed that mark on her wrist, held it up as proof that she was unlovable. So, fine. Maybe it wasn’t. Her soulmark wasn’t at fault.

But she’d still lost everyone anyway.

It didn’t make any difference in the end, didn’t matter if the universe hadn’t actually sent her a sign. Everyone Emma had ever loved had left her, one way or another; and if soulmates could be unrequited, then that was all hers really meant: she could love someone. She could truly love someone for the rest of her life, and more than anyone else in history could Emma now _knew_ beyond a doubt who the person destined for her was.

She just didn’t know that she could trust him to always love her back.

He had a _28_ , after all. Once, he must have thought that meant his Milah. Now, maybe (Emma’s heart _ached_ ) – maybe he could be starting to think it meant her. But twenty-eight was a common number. He could meet someone else. He probably _would_ , Emma couldn’t help thinking, couldn’t stop thinking for a single second not even when she’d been happy and hopeful kissing him, because her track record had proven the truth to her over and over and over: she just wasn’t good enough. Not to stick around for.

And she couldn’t – she couldn’t go through that _again_.

Emma wrapped up her wrist again, tighter than before. She knew it was all in her head, but the numbers felt like they were searing even deeper.

Kissing Hook had been a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this is entirely my fault for being primarily a oneshot ficcer, but to all of you who asked: yeah, this is multichapter. I'd say at least three more, though you can probably expect them to continue being slow.
> 
> (Also, sorry this is shorter but I felt the Echo Cave deserved its own chapter.)

“Neal’s alive,” Mary Margaret blurted, and Emma’s first, horrified thought: _no_.

She was a terrible, terrible person.

“Neal is…” she looked over at Hook. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t tell if she was seeking affirmation or comfort – and the sudden thought came that _comfort_ would be if he could tell her Mary Margaret was wrong, Neal was still dead, what was _wrong_ with her? She – it didn’t matter anyway, one glance at his face and she knew, she finished her question in a terrified little whisper: “…alive?”

“Maybe,” Mary Margaret said, rushed. Earnest and determined and too good, too good for Emma by far. “Sorry,” she told the men, “she deserved to know.”

_No I didn’t_ , Emma wanted to tell her, _I don’t. I don’t want to know this, I don’t want to know any of this_ but of course she couldn’t say that. Of course she already knew what she was going to have to do.

Regina left. Scoffing, mocking, harsh and completely uncaring about anything but Henry, and Emma hated how much she wished she could do the same. She didn’t even _like_ Regina, but she wanted to grab her arm and beg her to stay. She wanted that bluster, that complete lack of tact on her side for this, she wanted Regina to be _right_ for once, wanted to follow her into the jungle and leave everyone else behind. At least leave this ghost of Neal behind – it might not even be true anyway, he could still be dead.

But they wouldn’t let her seize on that excuse.

“Just because it seems too good to be true doesn’t mean it is,” Mary Margaret said, voice gentle like she wanted to inspire. Emma swallowed, didn’t look at Hook. “Don’t give up. You _owe_ it to Henry to find out if his father’s still alive, and you owe it to yourself.”

Emma couldn’t say no. She never could have. Henry _did_ deserve this, and she’d just seen proof that he’d be okay for a little bit longer. And Emma… If she were still looking for signs, she’d say the universe was trying awfully hard to remind her of everything she couldn’t have.

She marched into the jungle at the head of the group, resolutely avoiding looking at Hook.

* * *

She was at the very front of the group, pulling farther and farther ahead whenever she could, because every time she looked back Hook would meet her eyes.

Emma didn’t know what was worse – his expression or what hers must be. He was pale, looked strained, hopeful and worried at once, but Emma must be giving him a run for his money. She certainly _felt_ it, at least, felt frantic and terrified and guilty and – lost, always lost. David must see it too – that had to be why he was walking a little in front of Hook, why he kept slowing down just a little bit more, giving Emma a little bit more privacy. It wasn’t enough, in no _way_   would an extra five feet ever be enough to help her prepare for this, but... the fact that he was doing it at all meant something.

His hug that morning meant something. Mary Margaret listening to her proclaim herself lost – that _meant_ something.

Her mother hadn’t hated her for letting Regina rip out that Lost Boy’s heart. Surely, this wouldn’t be too much. Maybe she could help, somehow. Make it better, somehow (wasn’t that what mothers did?).

“I kissed him,” Emma blurted, before it was too late.

“What?” her mother asked distractedly, not stopping. “Who?”

Which was – what a stupid –

“Hook,” Emma said, scoffed almost because she’d felt like every second of this had been neon-lights obvious, how could Mary Margaret not _know_? “I kissed Hook.”

“Oh,” was her answer though, so maybe she didn’t. Maybe it really wasn’t so obvious at all. “What – why?”

“I – I dunno, I was… it’s been a while, I was feeling good, I – ” Emma was regretting this impulse, so much. Anything true she could say was too dangerous: _he’s been what I needed_ , _to stop him feeling sad, because I’ve always wanted to, because he’s my **soulmate** ,_ _because he’s him._

“Did it mean anything?”

“It was just a kiss!” Emma said, lied, what a fucking awful liar she was it had to be obvious but what else could she say, how could she ever tell the truth about this? What had she been thinking bringing it up at all?

Mary Margaret’s next words came like a gutpunch.

“I’m sure Neal will understand,” she said, soft and loving.

She said, _wrong beyond belief._

That wasn’t the point of this. That was not at all – Emma was scared about Neal coming back, sure, but it wasn’t because of whatever he might or might not _understand_ about this. She wasn’t cheating on him, she didn’t owe him anything, she… still cared, of course, but.

But this was something else entirely, and it was clear now that it wasn’t anything her mother could fix. She shouldn’t have even tried.

“If he’s still alive,” Emma said, instead of _sometimes I think that ever since the curse broke you don’t know me at all anymore_.

“Emma, I get what you’re doing, you know,” Snow said. “You don’t want to open yourself up to the hope that he’s alive but you _should_.”

“Why?” Emma stopped. The question came out harsh, but she didn’t care. She wanted it to be harsher. Wanted to make Snow understand how wrong she was. Wanted to know if she’d still be saying this once she knew the truth.

But her mother stopped too, turned around and looked Emma right in the eyes.

“Because you deserve a happy ending, Emma. And happy endings always start with hope.”

_Well I guess I’m screwed then, because I haven’t had that in a long long time._

Kissing Hook hadn’t been hope, not really. At best, it had been _wanting_ to hope, and even that much burned.

Emma looked down and kept walking.

* * *

“Emma!” Neal yelled, and it echoed out into the cave, and she took two steps back before she could stop herself.

“Neal,” she whispered back, felt like an echo herself. Felt empty, hopeless in a horrible way, because this was _good_ , this was Henry’s father back from the dead and for all he’d done Emma knew Neal was at heart a good man and he didn’t deserve this panic clawing at her throat, but he was _alive_ and Hook said _secrets_ and she was –

“Must be a hundred feet across,” Snow said; Emma breathed out and in.

“Even if we fashioned some sort of rope there’s nothing to attach it to,” David added (and Emma breathed out and in). “No way to swing over.”

“So what do we do?” Emma asked, and breathed out and in again, and hoped she didn’t sound too desperate. Hoped no one realized that she was just aching for this to be _over_ , wanted someone else to take charge and tell her what to do and maybe she could just follow orders and stay numb to all of it.

“I told you what needs to be done. Consider this the moment of truth, literally.” Hook said, as he slowly turned around. He looked her way first, and then past, quickly, and the smirk that flashed across his face was ten kinds of fake. “Now, who wants to kick things off?”

“So what,” Emma said, deliberately doubting. “Someone tells their secret and they sprout wings?”

“I don’t know the particulars, only what I’ve been told,” and he was bitter, he knew what she was doing, he knew but Emma couldn’t stop. She was used to challenging him but this wasn’t that, this was goading – this was _mean_ , but Emma’s fear was doing what it always did, turning into anger, and Hook was such an easy target.

“Well, how do you know it’ll work?” David asked; Hook sighed deeply and turned around.

“There’s only one way to find out, I suppose,” he said quietly, and then there was a pause, and Emma heard him sigh again, and she was suddenly _terrified_ , but she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape –

“I kissed Emma,” Hook said in a rush, whirling back around and avoiding her gaze.

Emma... rolled her eyes.

She felt some strange mix of disappointed and relieved, and stupid for both, that Hook’s big secret was really something so small. So… dumb, and inconsequential, he was two hundred and thirty two years old and his biggest secret was that Emma had kissed him in the bushes a few hours ago?

“I already told Mary Margaret, so technically it’s not a secret,” Emma said, when her parents were done reacting to the ‘big news’, “but… it was just a kiss.” And she choked a little on the words, and her superpower chimed in _liar, liar, liar_ ; she looked at Hook and didn’t want to ask but she had to ask because what if he _knew_ somehow: “How is that your darkest secret?”

“It’s what the kiss exposed,” he said, with a tiny nod. Blunt and honest and staring Emma down, for just a terrible moment before he continued: “My secret is, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah… to believe that I could find someone else. That is, until I met you.”

_Until I met you._

In the wake of his confession, a strange calm washed over Emma. It was as though everything else, the sound of the wind and her parents watching and Neal waiting and Henry missing, all of it vanished. It was just Emma and Hook, staring at each other, and his secret was echoing in her ears, in her heart, in her soul.

And she realized: he hadn’t said the word.

He’d as good as confessed his love, or at least that he _could_ love her, he’d spoken about moving on from Milah and everyone knew, you don’t do that with a soulmate. Not really. Hook had looked her in the eyes and said that she was the reason but he didn’t say _soulmate_. He didn’t put that on her, and this was his darkest secret so maybe he didn’t realize. Maybe he didn’t think she was his (maybe he already _knew_ she wasn’t).

Maybe he didn’t care.

Emma started to step forward, mouth opening to say – she didn’t know what, but he hadn’t said the word and that was somehow monumental, after all this, it felt like he was letting her _choose_ even if he had no idea at all and she couldn’t let that go unanswered, couldn’t let him go…

The cave shook as it began to build a path, and Emma shook too, and she didn’t know which was stronger but at least when it was done she could breathe a little stronger, think a little clearer. Could start thinking at all. Or maybe she was still operating on emotion, or instinct, because she was still stepping closer, was reaching out and it looked like Hook was holding his breath as her fingers brushed against his arm.

She heard David try to tell his secret, only to be cut off by Mary Margaret, but Emma didn’t look away from Hook. She couldn’t, just like she hadn’t been able to tell him that kiss was nothing, because they both knew _better_ than that. Emma finished her movement, silently gripped Hook’s arm (the leather of his coat was cool beneath her fingers, she remembered tugging him closer by it) as her mother spoke.

“Our daughter,” Snow said, and Emma swallowed, letting her grip loosen, turning her head to watch: “is a beautiful, smart, _amazing_ woman, who I love very much. And of whom I could not be more proud.”

Emma turned further away from Hook, tensing again at the familiar build-up, waiting.

“But she’s all grown up,” Snow said… and there it was. Emma felt herself smiling, just a little, because of all the things to say about her – _I’m a Lost Girl_ , she thought, _I’ll never be all grown up_ , but Snow kept going: “And as much as I want to pretend I’m okay with that, I’m not. We missed it, David. What we have with her is unique… but it’s not what I wanted.”

Emma breathed in, and in, and in, slow between her teeth.

And out.

Snow’s secret wasn’t even a surprise, not really. It didn’t hurt as much as it would have even an hour earlier, either; not after that conversation about the kiss and the sudden awful distance she’d felt gaping between them. It didn’t change things at all, not really, Emma wasn’t good enough and that wasn’t news, it wasn’t important, it didn’t matter…

“I want to have another baby,” Snow confessed, and the cave shook again. Emma would have stumbled but for her grip on Hook’s arm; she looked down and her nails were digging marks into the leather, she was holding on so hard. She didn’t remember doing that.

The path from Neal extended closer.

Still not close enough.

David didn’t pause a second before he started his own confession. Emma was still staring at her hand, clinging onto Hook’s arm. She could feel him watching her too.

Then David said his name and Emma startled, jerked away. Didn’t have time to think before, “Dreamshade,” and then she was staring along with Snow, helpless and hating but David kept going: “I can’t leave Neverland. If I do, I’ll die.”

Emma breathed in, and –

The cave shook again then, which was good, because she thought her breath out might have come out more a sob, and she didn’t want anyone else to hear. She looked down at the path as it grew the last little bit to connect her to Neal and told herself it was okay. It was okay.

Don’t think about it. Any of it. Just – get through this for now. Just get Neal and get out, don’t think about any of –

She looked at them all in turn. Her mother, who she couldn’t satisfy. Her father, who she couldn’t keep. Hook, who she couldn’t…

Emma drew her sword, and crossed the bridge.

When she stopped to look back, one last time, they were all watching her. Hook’s eyes were dark, and his arm was still bent where she’d been holding it.

She ran the rest of the way across.

* * *

“You okay?” she asked Neal.

“Yeah,” he said. “But Henry, I –”

“It’s okay, we’re gonna take care of him,” Emma said (remembered feeling confident about that, about _everything_ , with Hook against her lips). “Just gonna get you out of there first.”

She stood up and started swinging, as hard as she could. The cage looked like it was made out of bamboo, or something, like it was tied together with bits of vine but when she hit it with the sword it made a sound like there should be sparks. She could feel each hit vibrating up into her arms, doing nothing, but she swung again anyway, and again and again and again.

“Emma – Emma, Emma!” Neal’s voice gentled as soon as she stopped. It went low and kind and she _hated_ how much she wished he were still gone. “You know that’s not how this works.”

Damn him, but she did.

“It’s okay,” he told her when she dropped down to face him. Still too soft, too understanding. “You can tell me anything.”

She already knew what she was going to have to say.

“When I heard you might be here, that you might still be alive,” Emma said, “I knew I should be happy, but I wasn’t. I was terrified.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t understand why until now. From the moment I saw you in New York, from the _instant_ you stepped back into my life I knew, I knew I never stopped loving you.” He smiled, and ducked his head, and Emma felt a horrible wash of pity for both of them. He didn’t deserve this, but she couldn’t stop. “Before I even had a chance to take a breath, I – I lost you once more and all that pain that I had pushed down for all those years, it just came… rushing back, and I. I didn’t know if I could go through it again. But now I know I’m going to have to.”

Emma could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted – she wanted so badly for this to be simple, to be anything else than what it was.

“ _I love you_ ,” she told Neal again, for what felt like the thousandth time, each one worse than the last. “I probably always will. But my secret… is that you are not my soulmate.”

Neal jerked back a little, and Emma closed her eyes, heard her voice wobbling and going rough as she forced herself to say the truth out loud for the first time: “Hook is my soulmate. I finally figured it out, and – and I was hoping that this was a trick, I was hoping you were dead. Because it would be easier to put you behind me, than to face all the pain that we went through all over again, and to know it wasn’t even what I thought. To know I’m going to go through it again, _worse_ , when H-hook le-”

Eyes closed, tears slipping down her cheeks, Emma didn’t see when the cage vanished. She only knew it was enough when she felt Neal’s arms wrap around her, warm and kind and as wonderful as she remembered. More than she deserved, too, but Emma latched her arms around his neck and just held on, didn’t want to ever let go and face anything more than this.

She opened her eyes, and saw her hand clinging to Neal’s shoulder. The shoelace around her wrist had slipped a little, and she could see the slimmest edge of her mark.

It was dark against her skin, solid black numbers. Permanent, and Emma thought again of how Hook had kissed her like she was everything, of clinging to his arm to keep her balance, of the way he’d looked at her when he told her his secret.

One more truth, as undeniable and as awful as the rest: when Hook left, she would never recover.

* * *

Neal was staring at Hook.

He was trying not to make it obvious, Emma could see that, and probably no one else would notice. If they did they’d chalk it up to confusion over a former villain helping them, maybe, or something more bitter – romantic rivalry.

(The thought was funny, kind of. If it were about someone else she might want to laugh at the irony.)

(No, no she never could.)

“If we can find Henry, I can get us home,” Neal said and he sounded confident, at least. Matter-of-fact and that was good, that was important, that was all that really mattered here. None of the rest of them were important, not Snow’s baby, not David’s death, not Emma’s – anything, no it was Henry that mattered now.

“Then let’s go get Tinkerbell and… retrieve the boy,” Hook said, and his voice was too slow. Neal was staring at him and he was avoiding looking anyone in the eyes, except – as he turned his head lifted, he saw her watching him –

Hook ducked his head again and turned away. Emma watched him go, watched her parents follow him, didn’t want to look back at Neal until finally she had to, but.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, hands tight at her sides.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, and his voice was still like in the cave, so – _gentle_. It was relieving and terrifying at once.

“About what I said-” she started, unsure what she was even going to – apologize, maybe? He didn’t deserve this, and she knew that, and some sad little left-behind part of her would always _want_ to apologize to Neal, to beg forgiveness for as long as any part of her still loved him; but something fiercer in her swore she’d never say sorry to this man as long as she lived.

“Emma, it’s okay,” Neal told her, and stepped a little closer. Emma felt tense, stretched thin beneath her skin, but she couldn’t just leave it at that, had to say _something_.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “I wish I could change this – my wrist, how I feel… But I can’t.”

The silence stretched out for a moment after that, a moment where she could hear herself saying _I’m sorry_ , where she hated herself for not saying it and hated Neal for letting that space wait as if he deserved it, and hated her wrist for everything that had ever happened in her life, everything that she knew wasn’t really its fault but hers, hers…

Finally, Neal said, “After everything I’ve put you through you don’t ever have to apologize to me about how you feel.”

(Was it better, that he answered the words she couldn’t say? Was it worse, that he gave them permission not to be necessary?)

“None of this is your fault,” he said next. “But – hey, I’m glad you told me,” and his fingers darted out to touch her arm, soft.

Like his voice. Like his eyes.

“I have a secret too, Emma,” Neal said, and everything about him looked so gentle, so _sad_. “You deserve to be happy. And… I’m never gonna stop fighting for that.”

She stared at him.

“Never,” Neal said with a little shake of his head, quiet and calm and determined, and then he walked away.

Emma couldn’t even turn to look after him. She stared, frozen, into the jungle. Her thoughts felt… sluggish, she couldn’t…

What changed when he went through that portal? What kind of, of journey did he go on to reach this point, to essentially give her his blessing to be with – no, more than blessing. A promise.

Emma didn’t need the Echo Cave to know Neal hadn’t been lying just now. Something had changed for him, and it didn’t even matter how it had happened, not when – she felt warm inside, felt…

It wasn’t hope.

Just because Neal supported her didn’t change anything about this situation, Emma knew that, but it – she almost felt like it could change something in _her_ , if she let it. Having someone who knew the truth and was on her side, who thought she deserved to be happy, who – _believed_ in her, in her happiness, that was…

( _It’s not new,_ something in her whispered. _Hook believes in you. Hook wants you to be happy. Hook wants to be happy with you.)_

It didn’t change anything.

She wasn’t going to let herself fall any deeper into this hole, she couldn’t. She had to have learned that by now, she wasn’t going to do this whether she had a friend at her back or not.

It just wasn’t worth the inevitable heartbreak.

But the thought stuck, as she finally turned to follow the group. Not even a thought, exactly, more of a daydream: something blurry at the edges, something made out of the stark letters on her wrist and the promise in Neal’s voice and the hope on Hook’s lips and the words _until I met you._

It was a picture of a family, all still together at the end of this, mother and father and son surrounding and supporting her. Of a friend, the man she’d always loved and thought she’d lost forever, back at her side. Of the man she’d thought she’d never have, a man she didn’t love yet but god, she could, she _would_ , and in this dream he would love her too and he wouldn’t ever leave, he would always kiss her like she was the whole world to him and he would never walk away.

It was so _stupid_ , and here in Neverland it was always night. This was no place for foolish daydreams.

(Still. She smiled.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's me. A year later, and the new chapter doesn't even get through one episode. My chapter count may be higher than I originally planned. But... well, stuff happens I think y'all will like (though at this point, rereading might be a necessary refresher).

The idea of working with Neal came easier than she would’ve expected. Maybe that was all due to the secret they shared now; a sort of enforced understanding. But somehow, Emma didn’t think so. It was something deeper than just that, something tied up in how they’d clung together before the portal ripped him away, how he’d promised to help her be happy. It was – another stupid sort of optimism, probably, knowing herself, but Emma wanted to foster that connection, that friendship. She wanted to indulge herself in at least that, because he knew and he wasn’t asking for anything more than to be there for her and she _needed_ that, she had so little of it, so even if the Shadow plan sent a foreboding shiver up her spine she was willing to go for it based on Neal’s word. Hook stood on her other side, volunteered himself a touch too eagerly and Neal’s voice went quiet when he thanked him, his gaze heavy and thoughtful again.

Emma swallowed and walked away from Hook, from Neal too. Tried to focus on the mission, on the goal – her distraction wasn’t going to help anyone. Thinking about Hook’s eager little jump in, his reasoning for it – valid, but too rushed, the edge of a lie in his voice – what he must think was going on right now, what everyone must think about her and Neal so close again… none of that was _helpful_ , all it did was make her feel vaguely ill and want to hide.

It made her angry too, though, reminded her of Snow’s words outside the cave, of that stupid sort of willful blindness, reminded her of every time she’d insisted she wasn’t jealous of Tamara and no one had _believed_ her, everyone seemed to think that Neal being back just made her a stupid little girl in love again. She hadn’t been that in so long, she – she was actively _refusing_ to make that mistake again, and for all she wanted to be with Neal right now, to feel understood, the knowledge that everyone else was no doubt seeing them as some love story _pissed her off_.

It was this island, Emma found herself thinking, as she shoved supplies into a bag. Nothing could just be _good_ in Neverland, everything had to get all twisted up and wrong. Like David’s sacrifice – and Snow’s reaction.

“This whole not talking to each other thing - don’t you think it’s been long enough?” Emma asked. She sounded too harsh to her own ears, and tried to gentle the next words, get her point across: “He didn’t tell you about his illness because he wanted to keep the focus on the mission; I get that.”

She wanted to make her mother understand that this wasn’t the time to pull away. Not for them, not for people who already _had_ something. She wanted to offer first-hand knowledge from the expert on losing people; shoving them away didn’t make it hurt any _less_. Not when – David didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t like with her and Hook, not – he didn’t do anything wrong either, but Snow and David were just _different_ , they were already _there_. They’d fought so long and so hard for this, and yeah, Snow wasn’t going to get her happily-ever-after-redo with a new baby now, maybe, but that didn’t mean she should be _punishing_ David just because she refused to understand his position –

“Good to see you’ve inherited his tunnel vision,” Snow muttered, and the bitterness Emma was trying so hard to tamp down flared up uncontrollably.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Snow said, in a tone that Emma had heard before. She’d heard it a lot in her life, but never yet from her family. And… she _knew_ it wasn’t like that really, knew she was just angry and getting mixed up in memories and bitterness and the hurt, still too fresh to manage, of still not being enough after everything Snow had told her up till now.

“You say a lot with nothing,” Emma said anyway, and shut her mother down flat when she tried to bring up Hook and Neal, because she was _done_. She didn’t care if she was being irrational, if her expectations for Snow knowing her mind had been unrealistic.

She was done being seen as a stupid little girl who didn’t understand the dangers of love and loss. She was done being _judged_ , seen as something too far gone to fix – she always had been, but at least she knew it and she knew how to handle herself. She understood this sort of pain far more than Snow ever could.

Before they parted ways, Emma gave David a long, long hug. This time, they both understood it for what it was: goodbye.

* * *

By the time Dark Hollow came up in conversation, Emma was _tired._ It had barely been an hour since they’d split ways with her parents, but the silent tension as they backtracked to Neal’s cave had her constantly on edge. All of them were focused on the mission, alert – but they were just as alert to one another. Emma could feel Neal and Hook watching each other, watching _her_ , examining her every interaction, and it wasn’t like she was any better because she felt a sick fascination with the way they spoke to one another. There was history there, something dark and twisted and entirely independent of her, but the addition of what she and Neal knew, and whatever Hook must think, made everything worse.

At the same time, she was afraid to remove herself – already, just in the act of stepping away for a minute to grab Neal’s star map, she could tell something had changed between them. Neal was glaring at Hook, who looked back with this awful fake edge of a smirk, and they both turned to her with hurt in their eyes. Neal’s expression rapidly shifted to – almost pitying, and Emma felt like groaning aloud, like hiding her face in her hands or punching them both because they didn’t have _time_ for any of this.

Somehow, going to the darkest place on the island felt appropriate. Every last light being snuffed out sounded almost _good_ , right now.

* * *

The hike through the woods was the worst yet. Emma hadn’t enjoyed any of them so far; even without her concern for Henry, she’d never really been comfortable in nature. She could and had camped outside, but that was always more out of a lack of options than anything else. She’d always liked the beach, and going swimming, but the woods never held the same appeal, and the jungle was far worse than even roughing it in the Enchanted Forest had been.

Today was awful for a completely different reason. If she’d thought the tension was bad before they visited Neal’s cave… There was complete silence among them for the longest time, the only sound those ambient nature noises that had kept Emma awake for ages last night. They stopped after a few hours, to sit down for a little bit and eat a few of the fruits Hook and Neal seemed able to procure with little to no effort.

Neal sat down right next to Emma, and her already black mood darkened, but then he nudged her shoulder with his, and crinkled his forehead in this little half-smile, the one that’d always gotten her to smile back.

It seemed there were a lot of ways she was still vulnerable to Neal.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging her again. “I’m here.”

Emma took a deep breath in through her nose, sighed it out, and leaned against him, just a little. She could feel herself draining, emotional exhaustion creeping up on her, and it was so tempting to just relax against Neal for a while, to let him take her weight.

But the last time she’d done that, he’d dropped her like a stone, and besides, she needed her edge. This was no time to get sentimental, to wallow in her self-pity, and – and Hook was _right there_ , and he was looking at the ground, taking slow bites of some mystery fruit.

“Thanks,” she mumbled back to Neal, then leveraged herself up and approached Hook. It shouldn’t matter to her what he was thinking of this, Emma knew that, but it _did_ , the sight of him so subdued pulled guiltily in her gut.

“Um-” She swallowed as he raised his head and their eyes met. “Can I have some of that?”

“’That?’” he asked, arching an eyebrow, and the innuendo took a second to land, since his voice didn’t have the usual flirty glee, but – but when it did, Emma was so relieved she actually _laughed_.

Just for a second. Just – more a single breath out, a slight noise, definitely nothing to write home about, but, god, it really was what the doctor ordered. This was what she’d been missing since their kiss – Hook had this ability to be so harmlessly obnoxious, _disarming_. Rolling her eyes at all of his stupid innuendo was _fun_ , when he wasn’t being too sincere for her to handle, and Emma knew she’d played along a little more than she had to several times already. And coming _now_ , it wasn’t at all what she’d expected, and for just a second, Emma felt buoyant.

Hook’s eyes brightened at her little snicker, and he literally stood taller. He grinned, other eyebrow raising to join the first, and somehow that propelled the moment on for longer than a second, just a little longer.

Emma’s eyeroll was just as much a part of the flirtation as his comment, she knew it, but she couldn’t hold it back. She was biting back a smile now, over-aware of how close Hook stood before her, even though just a minute ago she’d felt on the verge of breaking down. It felt really nice.

It was really scary.

“Never mind,” she told Hook flatly, which made him grin harder, and she had to turn away, before he could see the way she was flushing, but that meant _Neal_ saw, and he had this wide-eyed, disappointed expression that brought her crashing back down again in an instant.

“Let’s get back to it,” Emma said quickly, and stomped off before either man could react. Her heart was pounding, she felt _stupid_ , she’d been telling herself all day that she didn’t have _time_ for this. She didn’t want to fall in love. She knew better. Just because it felt good in the moment – that didn’t mean a damn thing, she needed to stop letting this _happen_.

* * *

Not half an hour later, they ran into a patch of brambled vines too thick to just push aside. The forest around them was too thick to avoid them, and in any case both Hook and Neal had agreed this was the best path into the Hollow, so Emma handed Neal his sword.

“That’s my cutlass,” he said, recognizing it in half a second and staring hard. “You find it in the cave?”

“No, actually Hook gave it to me.”

“Since when are you sentimental?” Neal asked, but despite the slightly accusatory tone, his eyes were trained firmly on Hook’s. His fingers gripped hard at the hilt of the blade.

“I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by,” Hook explained reluctantly. There was a challenge in the words, something like sarcasm, and Emma wondered again just how much he’d heard of what she shouted at her parents outside Neal’s cave.

“Oh, thanks,” Neal said flatly, clearly pissed off – but then he hesitated, eyes darting to Emma. He repeated himself, more sincerely: “…thanks.”

Hook blinked, losing the attitude. “I – welcome.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Hook took a half-step forward.

“I still had it,” he said – which was obvious, but he looked _open_ , in a way Emma hadn’t ever seen him for someone else.

“Yeah,” Neal scoffed, and spun around to start hacking his way forward, effectively ending the conversation in an instant. Hook sighed, obviously frustrated, and made to follow, but Emma put a hand on his arm, holding him back.

“What was that about?” she asked.

Hook’s sigh at the question was long, and heartfelt, and left Emma thinking perhaps she wasn’t the only one feeling tired in the wake of emotional whiplash.

“Ba – _Neal_ and I have a complicated history,” he said eventually, the kind of nonanswer that was normally Emma’s territory. “And I may have –” He worked his jaw, blew out another sigh, looked skywards and said, in a tone expecting a scolding: “I assumed he’d heard my secret. And I also assumed you’d told him of our shared moment.”

“Why would you assume that?” Emma snapped, abruptly reconciling all that extra sympathy today and feeling awfully _exposed_. She didn’t like that, she always felt raw around Neal anyway, and for all the comfort sharing her secret had given her, she didn’t want him to know all her secrets, not anymore. She didn’t want him _pitying_ her, looking down on her in that same loving way Snow was, damn it. _Damn_ it, and damn Hook for spilling the beans.

“Because I was hoping it meant something,” he said simply… and all Emma’s anger drained away. She still felt just as uncomfortably bare, but she didn’t blame Hook for that.

How could she, when that moment, that kiss, had almost meant everything?

“It meant something,” she said. Took a shaky breath, “-when you told us that Neal was still alive. Thank you.”

Hook nodded slightly, eyes still locked on hers. Emma couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I realize you could’ve kept Pan’s information to yourself,” she said.

“Why would I have done that?”

Hook’s voice was steady, he was looking right at her, he was _pushing_ and Emma understood why, but it made her feel like a coward. She had always thought of herself as at least brave, before.

“I don’t know. Maybe Pan offered you a deal? Why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test.”

Of course. Of course it was, and of course he was going to tell her what for and Emma wanted to _run_. She glanced quickly over at Neal, but he was still hacking away at the vines, and Hook hadn’t stopped.

“He wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die, even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman _I_ am.”

“And you chose your friend,” Emma said.

“Does that surprise you?” Hook asked, with a bitter grin.

“No,” she answered softly, catching them both by surprise.

She had no reason to believe he’d make that choice. He was selfish, he was vicious, she’d _seen_ him be both of those things and she knew next to nothing about him, really – except, she’d seen him be loyal, too. He’d been driven on by Milah’s memory for hundreds of years, and even though he’d betrayed Cora as soon they met, he hadn’t betrayed Emma until she did it to him first. He’d come back, he hadn’t been selfish at all in returning the bean, and he’d held back from attacking Gold ever since, and he’d been by her side or at her back this whole time, and he’d always been honest with her.

She thought about him stepping forward, stating the obvious so softly a moment ago, and no, it wasn’t a surprise at all that he’d chosen to save Neal. Emma couldn’t believe he’d ever keep something like that secret from her, which was _ridiculous_ , completely foolish and yet she couldn’t think otherwise, and he was staring at her in obvious shock she had such faith in him which was even _worse_.

“Even if you are a pirate,” she smiled awkwardly, hoping he’d take the hint and let this go, but no, of course he wouldn’t.

(One thing she’d never seen: Hook backing down from a fight.)

 “Yeah, that I am,” he said, and dropped his head with this little scoff. When he looked up, it was to step closer, until there was no space to breathe and she couldn’t look away anymore and her heart beat faster; it was to say, “But I also believe in good form. So when I win your heart, Emma…”

Her eyes were locked on his. The jungle fell away, everything fell away except Hook, voice calm and steady, and Emma, buzzing in her skin –

“And I will win it,” he promised (and there was that lightning, again). “It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

Emma blinked rapidly, sucked in a breath of thick humid air, struggled to think and failed, tilted in –

Because she knew. She knew he _would_ win her heart, she knew no matter how much she resisted it was going to happen, but – it was just like the Echo Cave. Once again, he didn’t mention soulmates, and she knew he was only talking about Pan’s deal but it didn’t matter, it _felt_ like he’d said ‘destiny’ instead of ‘trickery’. He wasn’t lying. He would win her heart, and he’d win it because she wanted to give it. He’d accept it from Emma, only her and only willingly, and she would give it not because of her soulmark but because she _wanted_ to. That’s what it felt like he was saying, like he was rejecting soulmates entirely and giving her all the power.

Worst of all, she already wanted him. It was impossible not to confront, in this moment: just like the last kiss, she was leaning in of her own accord, she was making the first move, because she _wanted_ to. It was just like the flirting earlier: Emma could’ve stopped herself if she’d really tried, but she _wasn’t trying_.

His mouth was sweet, and warm, and he took this sharp little breath in when they touched, his hand lifted up to graze softly along the edge of her jaw. Unlike the last time, his eyes were still open when she leaned back – wide and astonished. She watched as his features relaxed into something as soft as the kiss had been, something she couldn’t describe with any other word than _joyful_. He opened his mouth to speak -

“ _Don’t_ ,” she whispered. “Please.”

“…I won’t. But you’re gonna have to choose, Emma,” he said, smiling down at her. Gentle, but implacable. “Because neither one of us is gonna give up.”

“Neal isn’t – it’s not _like_ that, trust me,” she finally hissed. But that sounded like she was picking _him_ , and she didn’t want – (god, she was such a liar, liar) – she couldn’t do that. Besides, it was beside the point, even if she was sick of Hook thinking of Neal as a rival for her heart, sick of anyone thinking that but Hook especially (earlier, standing back with his eyes on the ground). Even so, none of that _mattered_ right now.

“I have to get my son back,” she said, as much for herself as for Hook. Hearing it aloud helped. The mission was solid, grounding in the same way Henry himself was. It gave her purpose, and purpose might give her strength, if she tried hard enough.

“And you will,” Hook agreed without hesitation.

“You think so?” Emma asked. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t need his, or anyone’s, validation. She _would_ get Henry back, but –

“I have yet to see you fail,” Hook said, and leaned just a little bit in again.

– but it felt _good_ to be believed in so completely. It was a kind of strength that didn’t have to be clawed out of her heart, lit a fire inside that was warm and comforting instead of raging against everything and everyone. Only Henry had ever believed in her so obviously and completely before.

Neal interrupted them before she could answer. Emma forgave his pity just for that, she was so relieved.

She honestly didn’t know what she would have said.

* * *

But when the shadow took him, she screamed his name. Even after all of that stupid fighting over the lighter, she shouted it desperately, was distracted and useless to stop them taking Neal too. She couldn’t stop it.

But like hell was she going to run when Hook and Neal were screaming in pain, when they were their shadows were ripping out of their bodies. Like _hell_ was she going to – she wasn’t going to _fail_ , she wasn’t going to leave them behind.

Emma held up the coconut candle in one handle, and lifted her other. Closing her eyes, she grasped for that fury she’d felt, the last time she did magic. She’d been _angry_ , sick of being looked down and of having expectations foisted on her, and of having people tell her who she should be. It’d been just like always: punching back.

But that wildfire was harder to find than usual. The directionless rage and resentment was still _there_ , but there was something else, too: a warmth like a little candle. Something nameless but growing, building on a fuel of belief and trust, Henry’s love, and...

_(“I have yet to see you fail.”)_

Emma embraced that little warm feeling, let it spread through her and push out of her hand. It wasn’t difficult, not like lighting that last fire had been. It was something like when she’d helped Regina with the crystal to save Storybrooke, but better, easier. It only took an instant.

The fire lit, the shadows were sucked in, and Emma slammed down the lid.

“How did you do that?” Neal asked breathlessly.

She glanced over at Hook, panting as he struggled back to his feet.

“I think I’m learning magic,” Emma said, slowly. She looked back at Hook again.

She had a terrible sinking feeling about what she’d just done.

_I’m not going to choose this_ , she told herself firmly. _I can’t. I won’t._

...God, she couldn’t even believe herself anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the reason this fic takes so long is that it's so closely aligned with canon. For all the scenes I rewrite, I watch them while rewriting, constantly rewinding to pick up on more little details of body language, intonation, etc... Normally I would only do that for short oneshots. It makes writing take that much longer (and balancing my writing mood music that much harder).
> 
> The other reason is just this is who I am.
> 
> ...anyway, next chapter should have some interesting conversations between Emma and Neal, possibly Emma and her parents, and definitely Emma and Hook. Neal's issues with Hook will be explored a bit, as well as something I desperately wanted from the show and never got, so look forward to that when it happens.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just occurred to me that I haven't shared my new mood music for this story. Overall, the whole album that the title comes from helps me get in the mood, but another major inspiration is the 'Tell Me It's Real' album by Seafret. Some really good stuff there.

Emma stomped in front of the men on the way back. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going, but just followed what she could see of the path they’d made on their way in and trusted that someone would tell her if she started going the wrong direction entirely. She had no desire to turn around and ask them. She didn’t want to even _look_ at either of them, not after what had happened back there, and at least they followed her quietly for a while.

Until Neal couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I know I screwed up.”

Emma stopped in her tracks, turning to glare at him. She could feel all of her emotions bubbling up again, her short temper easily converting her fear and doubt and everything else into anger. It helped that she _was_ angry, regardless. She’d – it sounded stupid, but she’d expected better of them both. Neal _knew_ , so far beyond doubt, that they would never happen, and what the hell had happened to his promise to make her happy, anyway? What did he think he was _doing?_

“Yes, you did. You _both_ did. We almost lost our shot at the shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter!”

“It wasn’t the lighter we were fighting over, love,” Hook stepped forward to add his extremely obvious two cents. His jaw was stiff and he looked strangely resentful. Emma knew what he was doing, at least: trying to press his case, put it all in the open, not let her deny what was going on – but he was so _wrong_ about what was going on.

And she had just _kissed_ him. He’d sounded so confident, he’d promised to be honest with her. Scrabbling around in the dirt with Neal in some juvenile pissing match was so – _disappointing_. At least with Neal, she was used to curbing her expectations, or at least to coping when they were let down. This was the first time since they’d truly been on the same side that Emma felt like Hook hadn’t lived up to his word. She’d honestly thought, after he came back with the bean, after everything he’d said, after the way he’d kissed her and looked in her eyes and _promised…_

“Okay,” Emma snapped, glancing back and forth between them. “Let me be very clear about something.”

She took a deep breath.

“If I had to choose someone, it would be _Henry_.”

Neal bit his lip, ducked his head in a nod.

Emma looked back at Hook. He watched her steadily, eyes bright. She remembered lighting the candle, thinking of him and Henry, and felt an awful twist in her gut. She wanted to tell him to stop fighting, but she didn’t know how to without sounding like she was either accepting or rejecting him completely. She shouldn’t have any qualms about shutting him down hard, but – but it wouldn’t be _true_ , and Emma knew Hook would never accept her bullshit that easily. She knew, despite herself, she wouldn’t want him to.

“I love my son. Henry is what matters most,” she told him firmly.

And, for some reason, Hook smiled, just a little. He lost some of the attitude, and she had a horrible feeling she knew why – and knew it wouldn’t last too much longer. He wasn’t going to back down, she didn’t even entirely _want_ him to no matter how much she hated herself for it, and ignoring this opportunity to stop him only guaranteed that he’d try again. He’d keep trying, he’d win her heart.

Emma turned away with a shiver. Didn’t look back.

* * *

After they rejoined Tinkerbell, Neal called her back to talk. She turned around with a heavy sigh, felt her shoulders tighten at the sight of his solemn expression and resented how _quickly_ the comfort had gone this time.

She kept making the mistake of relying on this man, in one way or another, and he kept letting her down. She – more than anything, Emma felt _tired_ of it. She still resented him for not being dead, and hated herself for that, but… Hell, it was an impossible feeling to stop, when he just kept doing this.

“Listen, I just wanted to say that… you’re right,” he said, earnest like always. “About Henry. He is all that matters, and if –”

She interrupted him. It felt new, powerful somehow.

“Yeah, I am right,” she said. “He matters most, but that doesn’t mean…”

She didn’t finish, but he flinched anyway.

“I’m sorry–”

“That doesn’t _change_ anything!” Emma almost yelled. Shit, she didn’t want to be doing this, ever but especially now when everyone would probably listen in, but – she had ten years worth of disappointment finally bubbling over, and it wouldn’t stop now. “Saying sorry doesn’t take back what you did!”

Neal took a step back. He looked surprised – of course he was. Of course, because she’d never confronted him like this. Even in New York, it had been too hard to really tell him what it had felt like back then, the way he’d ripped her apart – but now –

“You _left_ me. I know what you thought, but you left me anyway. How could you do that?” Emma took a step closer, breath heavy and uneven. “I’m so glad for Henry. But what you did –”

“I… Emma,” Neal’s voice cracked. “I thought it was your destiny.”

“You _know_ what my destiny is!” she snapped. Took a deep breath, forced her voice down to a harsh whisper. For once, the emotion taking over didn’t feel like fire. It was water, heavy rain, bearing her down with every word: “You told me you wanted me to be _happy._ You can’t just _take that back_ because you’ve got an old grudge or, or you want something back you threw away a decade ago. I won’t _let you_.”

Neal’s face had gone very pale. Emma felt sick.

“Just… stop,” she said, the quiet tone easy now. Her body felt heavy, sodden and exhausted. “Let’s just go.”

Neal didn’t try to stop her when she walked away. He didn’t follow after, either, not until she’d already rejoined the conspicuously silent group. She walked in alone, and they all tried not to look at her. She had to cross her arms, wondered how much they had heard and fought the urge to rub at her eyes. Hook was the only one not pretending; she could feel his gaze from where he stood next to the fairy, didn’t need to look up to confirm.

Something warm brushed her arm. She glanced up reluctantly.

David’s smile was small: hesitant, but warm. She could see the worry on his face clear as day, but it felt soft, somehow, had the edge of a question. Just behind him, Snow watched with her brows furrowed, lip between her teeth.

When Emma quirked her lips in a small smile back, his hand closed around hers in a squeeze, warm and firm. His grip tightened as Neal stepped out of the trees.

“We really do need to get going, if you lot want this to work,” Tinkerbell said. Underneath the familiar sardonic lilt, she sounded thoughtful. She looked directly at Neal.

“Sorry,” he said, then shot Emma a glance, stumbling over his words. “I – I mean… yeah. Let’s go.”

He stepped into line behind the fairy, and after a tense moment Hook followed. David still hadn’t let go of Emma’s hand.

Her eyes felt hot.

“C’mon,” she told her parents, and stepped forward.

* * *

Eventually, Emma was the first to speak.

They’d been walking for a while, long enough for her old aches to subside back down, at least a little. The steady rhythm was good, for that. The warmth of David’s hand around hers had helped too. The way Snow had walked so close, but quietly, the way she’d taken his other hand and kept holding on long after Emma’s sweaty palms outweighed any comfort from the gesture and she let go.

Once he’d moved up the line, Emma took a deep breath.

“Looks like you two buried the hatchet.”

“Buried?” Snow hesitated. “Uh, I dunno… We’ve at least put it away for now.”

The pause afterwards was awkward, the silence heavy with unspoken words about Emma’s own hatchets. Snow glanced at her, then away, and Emma dug her hands further into her crossed arms.

“So you’re really gonna stay here with him?” she asked.

Snow’s mouth opened: no words came out.

“…The thought of leaving you, Emma, it kills me,” she said. Emma looked straight ahead, bit back the thought _you don’t look like you’re dying_ because it wasn’t fair, she knew that. Snow and David were soulmates, practically the Platonic Ideal of soulmates, from everything she had seen and read and been told a million times by Henry she knew they loved each other more than anything or anyone else –

She thought about David’s hand squeezing her own. The way he’d hugged her goodbye twice now. That time in Storybrooke, when he sat next to her on the stairs and kissed her head without a word.

(Snow, sitting beside her and just _listening_ as she proclaimed herself Lost.)

“But there’s nothing we can do, if David leaves the island he’ll die.”

“So you’re just giving up,” Emma said flatly. She looked straight ahead, at Hook’s back. “Family means being together, all of us.”

“But there’s no other way,” Snow protested, and she sounded _pleading_ , was the thing. She sounded scared, and doubting, and like she was waiting for Emma to tell her otherwise. She sounded vulnerable, anything but proud and all-knowing. It reminded Emma of Mary Margaret, of her best friend and the first family that she’d ever chosen, but underneath her doubts Mary Margaret had always been made of steel. She’d been _brave_ , and staying here – that wasn’t.

“I don’t believe that,” Emma said. It was the first time she’d really thought it, so bluntly and so boldly, but – she thought of Henry, finding her in New York. Bringing her home, in so many ways, again and again. He’d died for her once, and they had found a way to stop that. Emma hadn’t had any idea what to do then, but they found a way. They traveled between realms, against all odds, and found…

Emma turned forward again, felt that little candle flickering, watched her father and Hook walking side by side just ahead.

“There’s always a way,” she said, almost to herself. After a moment she glanced over and Snow was watching her with wide eyes. She felt caught out, somehow, didn’t know what to say next. She felt strange, strong in a way she hadn’t ever been; it was the magic, a little, but not entirely. It was the way the magic had _felt_ , it was _why_ it had felt that way. Before that experience with the Shadow, Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever have been able to explode at Neal like that, and the kind of hope she was spouting now – it wasn’t in her wheelhouse, this was so much more something her parents should have said.

But she believed it.

She wanted it to be true, didn’t know how to make that happen, but – leaving Neverland without her father wasn’t something she would allow. She _couldn’t_ , not anymore. Her mother too, for all Emma resented her lately she still craved her approval and her love and she didn’t want to ever just _leave her_ , she didn’t want Snow to just give up like this.

Henry wasn’t giving up. Hook wasn’t giving up. And… she wanted to be more like them. She wanted – she didn’t even know what she was trying to say, but.

Snow looked her in the eyes and Emma felt shaken, wanted for a moment to confide in her once more, tell her _everything_ this time.

Getting interrupted by noise in the bushes was a relief. She rushed up next to Hook and pulled out her sword, almost eager for another fight if it meant the end of this introspection. Seeing Regina step out was actually a letdown, not at all the retaliation she’d been expecting since the Shadow mission succeeded.

She sighed, dropping her blade, and on her left she saw her parents relaxing slightly too.

Hook’s sword didn’t waver. A second later, she saw his old enemy step out of the trees as well.

Throughout the entire confrontation, he remained tense by her side, his eyes locked on Gold. Only when the Dark One leaned forward to give his son Pandora’s Box did he so much as twitch, and it was just to bring the tip of his sword a little higher up.

He didn’t relax until Emma made the call for the group to move on. And even then, his arm fell down stiffly, he stepped rough around Gold and slid his sword back into its sheath with a harsh motion that left his fist clenching at his side at the end.

Behind them, Neal was exchanging low angry words with his father. Emma left him to it easily, falling into step after Hook.

He walked stiffly behind the others, and maybe it was just this – weird sort of magic high she was on, the residue of that uncomfortable epiphany that Emma at least _wanted_ to believe in something like happy endings, but she couldn’t stop watching him. He looked so tense, even from behind, even with her view of him obscured by that big coat. Everything about the way he walked spoke of a thin wire pulled taut.

She thought about it again: his sword held steadily up. That careful blank expression.

Hook’s love for Milah was one of the first things Emma learned about him. It made a difference, made her want to keep their bargain, made her break it in the end. He’d lived for revenging her for _hundreds_ of years, and – and Emma knew she wasn’t why he’d let that go, not really. Not entirely. He’d needed to, he’d had to have _wanted_ to stop or he never would have, it had been his conscience that made him turn back with that bean, it had been his choice completely. He’d volunteered to bring them here, he’d agreed to take Gold along, he’d put himself in this position because it was the right thing to do and he wanted to do a right thing after so long. Emma understood that. She’d been there too.

But that didn’t make it _easy._ Knowing it was his choice to stop and it was what he should do didn’t mean he’d be any less tempted to attack, especially when this island was obviously its own sort of nightmare for him – for everyone, maybe, but the way Hook said Pan’s name wasn’t that different from the way he spoke to Gold – Rumplestiltskin. That half-explanation about his brother…

It was just. When Emma came to Storybrooke, she’d _floundered_. She’d been hurting and uncertain and if it weren’t for Henry she would never have stayed. If it weren’t for Mary-Margaret, for Graham – she couldn’t have cut it. She knew that for a fact. And she couldn’t imagine what she would have done if Neal had shown up before she’d broken the curse, or even if Henry had been less certain of her, Mary-Margaret less trusting and encouraging.

Hook was _alone_ , in a way she hadn’t had to be, and – soulmate aside, it stung to see him like this. It helped too, in a way, made his outburst about the lighter more understandable somehow.

(Made a part of her doubt herself even more, if she was just a distraction – something to cling to –)

(But that wasn’t right. She _knew_ that wasn’t right. He’d told her, in the Echo Cave, he’d proven it time and again. He meant it, he wanted her heart, _her_.)

(…At least for now.)

Emma stepped forward fast, on impulse: caught his shoulder and spoke low.

“We need to talk.”

“I’ve found when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation,” Hook quipped. He had a stupid little fake smirk on his face, the sort of expression that pissed Emma off a little on sheer instinct.

“Hey,” she said, a little too forcefully maybe. She shifted her grip to his elbow, dug her fingers in a little, made him turn toward her. She wanted to stop walking altogether, but Gold was only a few feet behind – “It’s not like that.”

Hook glanced down at her hand, and his expression softened a little.

“Sorry, love,” he sighed. “A bit on edge…”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “I know what you mean. I – I kind of really want to punch someone.”

“Should I take some distance?” It was said on a slight huff of a laugh, and his arm relaxed a little. Contrary to his words, he turned a little more towards her, stopped rushing away so much. Emma could have let go then, but instead she just…

She let her hand slip down his arm until it was on his hook, and then Emma held onto the curve of it, cool and solid in her palm. Hook’s eyebrows shot up, and she felt her cheeks flush, but – she wanted to show him he wasn’t alone. She wanted to make him feel better, wanted him to remember that determined sort of hope that’d had him making that speech earlier, wanted to… make him smile, maybe. Something.

“Emma?” he asked.

“No, you’re safe,” she answered, voice almost a whisper now. She felt stupidly shy, didn’t know how to go about comforting anyone without sounding condescending or fake or – and if he were anything like her, he wouldn’t want it anyway, wouldn’t know how to handle any kind of direct consolation.

So instead of fumbling for words, Emma just held onto his hook, and let her shoulder bump into his, and – and just walked with him. She thought about David before, about how much of a difference that tiny gesture had made, and stuck with it even when she felt stupid and awkward and like stomping off so he wouldn’t see it on her face. She didn’t look at Hook at all.

And – it seemed to work. He let the silence between them settle in, and he didn’t pull away from her. She could tell he was watching her, but he didn’t make any move to change or stop what was happening, and after a little his arm nudged a bit closer to hers. Emma felt it happen, so obviously not the casual movement he’d obviously meant it to seem, and it made her smile down at her feet, had her gripping his hook a little tighter as she wound herself closer into his side.

She _heard_ his breath catch. Heard it rush out in a little sigh a second later, and all of a sudden her nerves tacked right into a kind of giddy exhilaration because it’d _worked_. It really had, and it felt good in more ways than one, and she had a stupid moment of wishing he’d been walking further to the left, because she had a feeling that if it were his hand she were holding, it would be squeezing back right now. And that – was a _stupid_ thought, more crushing teen than grown woman, but that bit of regret was real nonetheless, and a much sweeter flavor than most of the ones she had, somehow worth savoring.

They walked on together for a few more minutes in complete silence, hand in hook. Eventually, Hook was the one to break the quiet, though he still made no move to pull away.

“What – ah, what did you want to say?”

He’d had to clear his throat. That struck Emma because – she wasn’t even touching his skin directly _anywhere_ , but he sounded as flustered as hell, as she felt, and it sent another wash of fizzly warmth through her.

It was followed, fittingly enough, with a blink back into reality, like a bubble popping. She swallowed, but she couldn’t not ask.

“I was thinking… there has to be a way for David to leave the island,” she said.

“Oh, well. There isn’t.” His voice was flat.

“He told me about your brother – what happened.” Emma’s hand clenched tighter around his hook when he started to step away. “I know it can’t be easy to talk about, but –”

“Well then let’s not, shall we?” Hook grimaced at her, shook his head. She could see him trying, but it wasn’t making much difference. That tension was back in him, that look of a spring barely held back. “The water that cured David from dreamshade connected him to the island, if he leaves –”

He paused, just barely. Emma felt useless, hung on tighter. There was distance between them now, but he still hadn’t outright yanked away. Not yet.

“The connection is broken, the poison will kill him.”

“What if we take some of the water with us, that way he stays connected, he can stay alive in Storybrooke.”

They stepped down into a more open part of the path, and Hook spun to face her. His hand reached out for her free one, catching it unexpectedly gently.

“For how long?” Hook asked, just as gently but leaving no room to argue. “Once the water runs out the dreamshade _will_ take his life.”

“Unless there was another cure,” Gold cut in, before Emma had time to react in any way. She turned to listen to him, letting her hands fall back down to her sides and trying not to care that both Gold and Neal would have obviously seen that. It didn’t matter, not compared to –

“You suddenly interested in what I have to say?” Gold stepped down the last little hill, gloating. “Thought I wasn’t to be trusted.”

Emma did not like being strung along.

“You’re not,” she said flatly, as he strolled between her and Hook. She had to step back a little to make room. Neal followed him, and stopped in the newly-made space. “But I’ll take my chances.”

“Well, if you’ll remember, I too was poisoned with dreamshade by a cowardly pirate.” Gold gestured at Hook, who smiled possibly the clearest _fuck you_ Emma had seen in years. “And yet–”

“Yes, and we know how you cured yourself. With a candle that takes another person’s life; David is not that selfish.”

“How noble,” Gold cooed. No. Rumplestiltskin. She could really, clearly see the ‘crocodile’ at work here. “The point is: after my near-death experience, I discovered much about the poison. I believe I could create an elixir, back in my shop.”

“What’s your price,” Emma bit out. She remembered the last time she’d owed him, couldn’t help the thought _so this is how he does it_ and the fury that went along with it.

“Well this _is_ … quite the favor. I’d expect one of equal weight in return.” Having said his piece, Rumplestiltskin turned to go, leaving Emma – agreeing? She had to. It was already making her feel dirty, but it would be worth it if –

“No.” Neal stepped forward, getting into his father’s face. “When we get back to Storybrooke you’re gonna save David because it’s the right thing to do. No deals, no favors, understand?”

“…Fine,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “I’ll do as you ask.”

For a moment, Emma couldn’t breathe. She stared at Gold, at Neal.

( _Neal._ )

“I’ll go tell David,” she said, and started forward.

* * *

She didn’t get the chance. Tinkerbell bursting in saying they’d arrived, the over-too-fast storming of the camp… The trend of missing action continued, leaving Emma’s adrenaline rushing pointlessly, her fingers itching on the hilt of her sword. Even finding Wendy Darling – even learning that she’d thought of Neal as family, had come to Wonderland for _him_ – didn’t phase Emma. It couldn’t, right now. Not when David was going to be safe, they had a plan, they were so _close_ …

She sat quiet through the conversation with Wendy, not even speaking up when it turned out she was working for Pan. Emma couldn’t talk if she wanted to. They were so close to succeeding but Pan wasn’t here, _again_ , she knew something was wrong. She could feel the tension building, building, against all odds it wasn’t breaking:

“Well, it’s a trade,” Wendy said. Emma knew what she was going to say before she said it: this was what had been missing. “When Pan lives… Henry will die.”

Everything felt clear.

Sharp.

Emma told her parents about the cure. Hugged her mother back (didn’t feel angry at all, not now). Held David’s hand and met his grateful gaze head on. Refused to accept any more farewell speeches.

David kissed her on the head before he left. Emma caught his hand, didn’t turn or speak to him but she _remembered_ it, fiercely: recognized that this was one of those moments that would matter. And then they were going to leave too, and it seemed just as simple.

She couldn’t leave without one more moment.

Not a goodbye. Not a just-in-case. _Not_ a farewell, but – Snow’s hug, David’s kiss, whatever the hell you would call those. An until-we-meet-again. A we- _will_ -meet-again.

Before she left the clearing with Rumplestiltskin, Regina, and Neal, Emma stepped forward. Hook swallowed visibly, and stepped in to meet her, and –

Henry mattered most. By far.

But he wasn’t the only one.

Everything seemed very simple, and it wasn’t a product of destiny, of fate or anything like it. It was because Hook... Killian Jones. He mattered too.

She’d known it was coming, she’d dreaded and denied it and edged closer bit by bit. And she wasn’t ready for the full weight of what this meant, wasn’t over the fear that it would ruin her down the line… but, right now, all of that was secondary. Unimportant.

“I’ll see you soon,” Emma told him.

“Aye,” Killian nodded. His face was stern, ready for a fight, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of doubt in his eyes. He believed in her completely, and Emma didn’t just feel it happen, didn’t just let it.

She _chose_.

* * *

The ride to Skull Rock was quiet. Emma still had that calm, that sense of clear purpose. Even when they were robbed of a confrontation again, she didn’t get frustrated, just… waited. Thought.

Magic didn’t really make logical sense at all, but there were certain things that did seem to matter. Intent. Emotion. And a kind of symbolic balance, like the Savior and the Dark One, the curse and the crystal, a shadow and…

“The moon,” Emma said.

It wasn’t the only source of light, but it _was_ the only one that had been up in the sky this entire time. It had to mean something, that there was never any day in Neverland. If she tried to think about it too much it didn’t really make sense, but it felt like it _fit_ , somehow.

Regina seemed to agree.

“I guess we’re about to find out how much those lessons I gave you paid off,” she muttered. And Emma thought about it, but…

When she took a deep breath and lifted her hands up to the sky, copying Regina’s gestures, she wasn’t remembering the campfire. It didn’t make _sense_ to, she wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone. She didn’t need to.

Emma thought of _Henry_ , of all he meant to her. The candle lit even easier than before, filled her with a kind of warm clarity, and – she still didn’t know what the hell she was doing, had to awkwardly follow along after Regina, but it was working. She could feel it, as much or more than she could see the shadow growing over the full moon, she could _feel_ the power within her, warm and bright and closer to love than any other word.

They were going to save Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did not get around to some of the conversations I wanted to happen (such as the one about Neal and Hook, or the *other* Neal convo I always wanted and never got). Forgot how _fast_ everything got here, and how many conversation scenes were quick little snippets with basically no time to work anything in between. At least not without changing canon willy nilly, which I've been trying not to do as I'm sticking more to want-of-a-nail, this-therefore-that changes. (I pushed it with that handholding scene, haha.) So there's still more development to look forward to on the interpersonal issues front, next chapter.
> 
> Plus, y'know, not actually saving Henry. And then actually (but not really actually) saving him.
> 
> And somewhere in that there's gonna be some good CS because that will be picking up a bit more sharply now!

**Author's Note:**

>  **the number 232:** going off of Killian's comment in S4 about being "more like two hundred" when Emma teased him about his age, plus his physical age.
> 
> betaed by penandinkprincess and gusenitsaa on tumblr.


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